


So Easy

by Fluffifullness



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Durarara!! Kink Meme, Gen, Hospitals, Mercy Killing, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 14:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffifullness/pseuds/Fluffifullness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shizuo performs a mercy killing on Izaya.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to [this here request](http://drrrkink.livejournal.com/6253.html?thread=24784493#t24784493). It was pretty straightforward. ~~And oddly reminiscent of the short I wrote on Izaya's birthday.~~

Izaya breathed a soft sigh and threaded his hand through the bars of the bed behind him. It fit easily – just skin and bones and blood shot full of chemicals, after all – and what remained of his muscles throbbed out a steady rhythm of agonized protest in response to that simple motion.

A day or two. A day, one. Maybe two. We’re terribly sorry, Orihara-san.

_Count them,_ Orihara-san.

One, two. Izaya held his other hand up to his face and smiled affectionately at the skeletal digits. The long sleeve of his nightshirt slipped down to reveal his whole arm, the stark reality of white and death and dying.

He was alive, for now – one, two, _zero_ – but that was nothing more than his mind, the neurons firing their last and a body that had for some time now done nothing but hurt. Grow thinner. Grow weaker.

“It’s not that I’m not eating,” he explained to his guest – wide-eyed-chocolate-brown, hands starting to form fists on his knees – “This body’s just trying to get away from the pain.” It was shrinking in on itself, he explained, turning in for a long and restful sleep and who knew – Izaya didn’t – what would come after.

“Fuck,” Shizuo stated quietly, and Izaya’s grin widened. The brute never _had_ been one for pretty words or pity. He probably didn’t even get it.

Izaya sighed, attempted a casual stretch and cringed instead. “You’re so late,” he complained breathlessly. “Everyone else is already gone.”

Shizuo said nothing, but his eyes never left the informant’s face.

“I hate waiting,” Izaya continued, unfazed by the other’s silence. “This place is so boring.” He’d already grown tired of his case studies, after all, the old and tired doctor and the nurses – two, one a young man completing an internship and the other a woman whose cold thoughts and resentment were easily apparent beneath a paper-thin layer of pretended sympathy.

“You…”

“You know what I mean, don’t you?”

Shizuo narrowed his eyes and pressed two – _two,_ Izaya had counted, _two days at most_ – fingers to the bridge of his nose. He was shaking, his breath coming in angry spurts of barely-restrained, easily-read confusion.

It would be so easy for him.

“No.”

Izaya allowed his smile to turn melancholic. “Liar.”

“Why?” the blonde demanded. “Why me?”

“Because you’re you, Shizu-chan.”

“Ask a doctor,” he hissed, apparently dissatisfied with the reason he’d been given.

“I’m asking you.” Izaya was tired, already, of arguing. Shizuo was stubborn and self-contradictory and maybe scared to hurt even Izaya with that monstrous strength of his, but he was and had always been an odd sort of sentimental. “How many times have you already sworn you’d kill me?”

“I…” The blonde stopped and finally looked away from Izaya – down at his hands, now, at his shoes and the bare white linoleum reeking of disinfectant beneath them. The bed’s edge, rough sheets with lingering bloodstains and the tubes and wires mingling with short waves of fabric.

“I didn’t mean like this.”

“I don’t care,” Izaya hissed, and there was something that wanted to be anger bubbling up within him. He wanted to reach out and grab Shizuo, wanted to see rage flash in his eyes – and then they’d run past people and buildings and Shizuo would shout and look like an idiot with Izaya always _just that far_ away and the humans would be scared and – and it would be _fun._

Fun…

“…You wanna leave.”

The not-really-a-question caught Izaya off guard. Shizuo looked like he was already grieving – ah, but wasn’t that just adorable? – with his shoulders lax, neck inclined, nervous hands holding each other still.

The informant responded only after a long pause. “ _Help_ me leave,” he murmured, “Shizu-chan.”

It would be so easy for him, after all. He’d tear Izaya from his nest of beeping machines and monitors and tubes dripping poisonous remedies, he’d slip his hands about the informant’s neck and squeeze or maybe he’d throw something – the bed, the hideous lamp on the too-small bedside table, the bedside table or maybe even Izaya himself.

But the blonde only frowned, turned his attention with an annoyed _tch_ to the window on the other side of the room and fished about in his pocket for the cigarettes he had to know he couldn’t smoke anyway.

“You want me,” he accused, “to become a murderer for you.”

“You never did make a great tool,” Izaya sighed, admitting it without argument.

“I _hate_ you,” the other man growled. “I hate _violence_.”

Izaya smiled resignedly. “And what of it, Shizu-chan? You can’t hate both things forever.”

“Guess I don’t have to,” Shizuo retorted.

“Oh, that hurts,” Izaya all but shouted back at the blonde. “What are you here for, then? Just looking for a good laugh?”

“No, I -!” Shizuo stopped, then, as Izaya folded in on himself – his knees hitting his chest as his grip on the sheets tightened and the heart monitor spat out beep after too-quick beep – and he didn’t even have the grace to move away when a group of medical personnel filed in, all slow motion and shouted instructions and Shizuo never moving, never saying anything or displaying any real emotion.

Only hate, hate, hate. I hate you.

“I know,” Izaya panted into the plastic they held to his face, the air that was never really enough for his dying lungs. “I know, but Shizu-chan –”

It might be a lot less than one or two. One half, maybe, one third one fourth one fifth.

The mere moments, in the dazed going-under of another dose of pain medications and the echoing hollowness of just this not-even-a-human, that it took Shizuo to shake himself and come a bit closer.

The tips of his fingers caressed the pale skin of Izaya’s neck as they slipped forward to rest comfortably on the informant’s spinal column. His thumbs found Izaya’s windpipe

and

that

was

all.


End file.
